


Interlude

by sowell



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sowell/pseuds/sowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series. Michael visits. Yada, yada.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

She felt it first, that slow tingling instinct born of years of stealth and combat. She slowed as she reached the blank, white door that led to her apartment and stopped, staring at it. Someone was waiting for her behind that door. She forced herself to breathe slowly, forced a halt to the rapid acceleration of her heart. It could be Walter. He had been sternly disapproving when she decided to move into Operations’ old quarters, citing the barren apartment as giving him, "the willies." Despite that fact, he took every opportunity to visit her there, smiling at her with worried eyes. Somehow, though, she was fairly certain it wasn’t Walter. Alarm bells wouldn’t be ringing in every muscle of her body if the visitor were benign. It had to be a hostile. The door slid silently open. She drew her gun and stepped inside.

She couldn’t see a thing through the thick shadows, but a certain denseness in the corner of the room drew her aim, and she swung the gun in that direction. "Don’t move."

The person in the shadows didn’t even shift, but in the few seconds it took to confront her intruder her eyes adjusted and an outline began to take shape. Male. Tall. Too tall to be Walter. Her heart began pounding again as his familiar/unfamiliar silhouette came further into focus. Her mouth went dry as his name sprang to her brain.

"Put your hands up, and walk forward. Slowly," she said, faintly surprised her voice didn’t tremble. He put one foot in front of the other, treading gracefully and carefully toward her. Her entire body began to shake in earnest. She could see the unsteady movement of the gun in front of her, an extension of her arm, as he approached.  _This has to be a dream_ , she thought dazedly.  _This can’t be real._  He stopped a mere foot from the gun barrel, regarding her, as calm and impassive as always.

"Michael," she said hoarsely.

"Nikita," he answered in his grave, low voice. All the thoughts in her head dried up at the sound of her name on his lips, exotic and whiskey smooth, as sweet and debilitating as she remembered. For a minute she couldn’t do anything more than stare. He looked the same and yet different. His hair was shorter, more suitable to a civilian than the absurdly romantic curls he’d had in Section. He was dressed in street clothes, jeans and a gray sweater that did nothing to hide the lean, tightly muscled length of his frame, and even from a few feet away she could see his translucent green eyes, probing and shuttered at the same time. In the darkness he seemed even more predatory than she remembered, dangerous with grace and beauty and power. She would have preferred to find a hostile waiting for her than his mesmerizing presence. Two years hadn’t weakened the impact. If anything it had lulled her into thinking she must have over-exaggerated his allure, that love had made him a giant in her mind. And now she found herself caught, stunned, confronted without the benefit of preparation or defense.

She hadn’t realized the gun had begun to creep downward. He took a step forward and she straightened, aiming with renewed enthusiasm at his heart. He stopped.

His eyes cooled a fraction, and he flicked his gaze over the gun dismissively. "Are you planning to shoot me?" he asked smoothly, his accent caressing the words.

"That depends," she said coolly, finding her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." The words, spoken with quiet conviction, sounded like truth. But then, Michael could make solid ground turn to shifting sand under one’s feet with his lies. Taking him at face value was the worst thing to do. She had the sudden thought that he might be here as a hostile after all. Who says he hadn’t joined with another agency just to get a little back from Section? She considered it, and almost immediately rejected it. However complex Michael’s machinations were, she knew he would never risk Adam by thrusting himself back into the world of terrorism. His love for his son was the one thing about him that she had never doubted. His determination to protect Adam was stronger than any political ties he might have, stronger than any ambition or desire for revenge. Stronger than even his love for her. She pushed the unworthy thought away.

She raised an eyebrow, keeping the gun leveled at him, and forced a matter-of-fact tone. "What do you want?"

His eyes locked on hers, as though he heard the lie in her indifferent tone, and her breath caught in her throat. His face was rich with concern, his eyes intense as they swept over her. "I wanted to make sure you’re…ok." She had to blink to keep her own eyes from filling with tears at the sudden desire to throw herself against him, let his strength support her. But she hadn’t done that since he’d played her against Jurgen, and she wouldn’t start now. She wasn’t his trainee anymore, and she wasn’t his lover. He was on her turf now, and she wouldn’t be manipulated.

"I’m fine, Michael," she said coldly. "You’ve had two years to check up on me. Why now?"

Nothing in his face moved, but his eyes were shining, caring. "I missed you." She didn’t answer, wanting nothing more than to scream at him for his perfunctory statement. She had almost gone mad with missing him every day since he left. She hadn’t realized how very much she had leaned on him to get her through Section until he was gone. He began to walk, slowly, almost aimlessly, around her utilitarian living room. She tracked his movement with the gun. He ignored it. He looked around him, taking in the surroundings. "You moved out of your apartment."

"Center preferred that I stay here." And her apartment had too many memories. It was full of ghosts, of the night he had given it to her, of his hands gripping her shoulders as he grilled her about Adrian, or Julie, or any number of lies she had told, of his warm, hard body curled around hers when she woke in the morning. She had no hope of moving on in her apartment. So she had moved into Operations’ sparse quarters in Section: the white walls, the bright lights, everything clean and empty and soulless. Just like she had become.

His eyes came back to her, laser sharp, as though he’d never taken his gaze away. "You never cared before."

"It’s different now." She watched him for a moment, running his hands over the stainless steel counter, briefly picking up a wineglass and setting it down again. Not fidgeting, but testing. Familiarizing himself with the surroundings. She lowered the gun abruptly. It was no use. She wasn’t going to shoot him, and he wasn’t intimidated by firepower. "How did you get in here?"

"Your door isn’t secured." She almost rolled her eyes in the sudden memory of how literally he took things.

"I mean, how did you get into Section?"

"I had access." The codes changed automatically every six hours. The only way to get in was with an updated key card, or to be let in by a guard. Since every guard was still under orders to cancel Michael Samuelle on sight, that meant he had obtained a key card on his own. Or taken out a few guards without anyone noticing.

She narrowed her eyes as the obvious answer came to her. "Walter."

Michael just looked at her, and she sighed. Romantic fool. He had probably been envisioning a joyful reunion. With lots and lots of sex. She shivered as her gaze went inadvertently to his mouth. She hadn’t been with anyone for two years, despite Walter’s chiding, and she hadn’t missed it, had barely thought about it except for the times she woke in the middle of the night, weeping for no reason and burying her face in the empty space next to her. Always before she had craved human contact for comfort, even if it was someone other than Michael. But his departure seemed to have broken something in her, some essential part of her humanity. Now a jolt went through her entire system. Almost against her will her gaze drifted down his body, across the broad shoulders, the powerful legs and arms. When she came back to his face he was watching her with half-lidded eyes, sensual and assessing at the same time.

He began to walk toward her slowly, giving her time to move if she wanted. She could swear she told her brain to step away, but she was rooted to the floor. It had to be a dream, she thought. Life wasn’t kind enough to let her have another taste of him, to let this giddy excitement and yearning be real. Unless the taste came at a terrible price, which she feared was a more likely possibility. Maybe he wanted something she couldn’t give. Maybe he was using her in some way. Maybe… Maybe before he ever touched her this would all vanish, and she would wake up to realize he was gone forever, just like she thought.

He didn’t stop until they were a breath away from touching. And then he reached up and traced her eyebrow with the pad of his thumb in a gesture so erotic and achingly familiar that her knees almost buckled. Her control was fraying bit by bit. She didn’t care why he was here, or what he wanted from her. She would give it to him if he would just keep touching her, if she could just feel him against her. He cupped her cheek in his rough palm, and she closed her eyes against the exquisite sensation of having his hands on her again. He took her face between both hands and slid them slowly, slowly down her sensitive neck as she silently shivered. His light eyes traced her features with an intensity that took her breath, down one cheek and across her parted lips, over the plane of her forehead and back, leaving each place feeling as though he’d physically caressed it. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other came to rest against the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. His thumb rubbed lightly over the pulse at the base of her neck as he began to pull her slowly, slowly toward him.

Her cell phone rang, shrill and insistent between them. He froze, staring at her for a breathless moment before his eyes fell shut in exasperation and despair. She peeled herself away from him with painful effort before removing her phone from inside her jacket and flipping it open.

"Yes," she said, marveling at the smoothness of her own voice. She felt like her insides were unraveling at a pace that left her dizzy and nauseous.

"Status update on the Korev file." Solomon Weitz. The chief member of the board of directors who presided over Center. He was answerable only to her father’s replacement as head of Center, whose identity was being kept even from her. While George’s position had been eliminated, Solomon served the same general function as Oversight. Watching her.

"No change, sir."

"Why not?" he barked. He reminded her of Operations with his quick temper and blustery manner.

She bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. She risked a glance at Michael, who had retreated into what she would always think of as his trainer stance. Standing tall, his hands folded in front of him, a cool, watchful look on his face, he was at his most imposing. He was following her conversation and judging.

"The intel we received from the venture in Africa proved unreliable," she intoned. "Further interrogation revealed that our source was mentally incompetent."

"That’s unacceptable, Nikita."

"We have another mission ready to depart in six hours."

"Not good enough. Center wants a quick turnaround on this case. I want to meet in the morning."

"Fine. I’ll be at headquarters by eight o’clock."

He hung up without a word. She sighed and closed her phone, glaring at it for a few extra seconds. She could almost long for the days when she felt free to piss off Operations without a second thought. Of course, she hadn’t realized back then that every time she did it she was forcing Michael to run interference to keep her alive. And now it was her turn to keep him alive.

She turned back toward him and met his gaze. She was immediately sucked back into the moment. He was looking at her with an odd light in his eyes, proud and possessive, and she knew that in a moment’s time he would be touching her again, and she wouldn’t be able to think at all.

She turned her back abruptly and went to the stiff couch in the center of the main room, the only piece of recreational furniture that existed in the entire apartment. She didn’t sit, but leaned her arms against it, pressing on the back as her head hung down. The part of her brain that Michael had trained, the part that had kept her alive for almost ten years in Section, was screaming that she should never turn her back on him. Not even here, in her own space. It wasn’t that he would hurt her. She had abandoned the gun on the counter without a second thought. But he was dangerous in other ways. She could feel him behind her, stalking her.

She looked up at him, and something in her gaze halted him in his tracks. She tried to infuse her voice with some humor, and failed miserably. "You want to know how I am, Michael? This is it." She swept her arm over the breadth of her apartment. "Remember that pesky soul you once accused me of having? Well, it’s gone now." She had a sudden, startlingly clear memory of not-Julie holding a rocket launder in an abandoned warehouse at the airport. " _This_  is who I am. I have Center breathing down my neck, Quinn just waiting to stick a knife in my back, Walter and Jason acting like teenagers, doing everything they can to get themselves cancelled, and Jasmine breaking code left and right. And no one I can count on. Section owns me, Michael. I jump when they say jump and kill when they say kill."

"I’m sorry," he said quietly, and she believed him. The look on his face was a familiar one, full of tenderness for her and grief for what he had been forced to do to her again. They had reversed entirely. She had always thought that he had accepted his life in Section, and that she would struggle for the rest of hers. Instead, he had broken free, and she was left, more trapped than he had ever been.

She looked away from him, ashamed that she could feel bitter at the impossible decision he’d been forced to make. Her voice was husky and quiet as she said, "You don’t have to feel guilty. Adam’s your son. You didn’t have a choice."

He lifted one of her hands in his own, gently playing with her fingers, and she swallowed at the corresponding rush of warmth in her body. "I know," he replied softly. "It’s not guilt."

"What then?"

"Regret." He lifted her other hand and began caressing that, too, and she let him, helpless to do anything but gaze at his beautiful face.

"Michael." Her voice was thick and teary. "You can’t be here. Part of the deal I cut with Center was that you’d stay away. They think you’re a danger to them. If they find you here…they’ll kill you. They’ll go after Adam."

He lifted one of her hands to press his mouth to the back of it. "You won’t let that happen." Utterly unafraid and self-assured. Frustrating and arrogant.

"I can’t protect you!" she cried. "You don’t understand."

"Yes, I do," he said firmly, his accent thickening. "You’ve always managed."

"Michael –"

"Enough," he interrupted, pulling her against him with the giddy strength she remembered. "We only have a few hours."

It was absurd. She hadn’t seen him for two years, had never expected to see him again. They had things to talk about, explanations to make. She couldn’t just fall into bed with him. But, as usual, the concept of conversation was lost on Michael. He dipped his head and kissed her, and that was all it took to convince her. She pulled him tighter, nearer, not believing that this was happening, not believing it was his lips and his body and his hands. And when he was buried inside of her, with his face against her neck and his arms squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe, she could feel him trembling all through his body.

It had always been like that with them. The first time he had touched her she had felt his presence like an instinctive thing, like he had already been inside her body, invaded her soul, perhaps in another lifetime. They didn’t need words. They didn’t need anything but each other’s presence, and it seemed to be the one thing everyone wanted to deny them.

They stayed like that for endless minutes afterward, him covering her protectively and her stroking his back. Eventually he rolled off of her and dragged her against him, curling around her like a spoon. She closed her eyes at the feeling of him so near and safe, and her eyes began to fill again.

"Nikita," he whispered, and it was all it took to make the tears spill over. She couldn’t speak, but she kissed his palm, marking it with her lips and her tears, and they fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other.

 

*****

She woke up terrified. She lurched for her gun, only to have Michael pull her back down. She struggled for an instant, and he neatly pinned her, giving her a good shake. "Stop," he commanded, and she did, staring up at him with frightened eyes.

"What’s wrong?" he asked calmly.

She darted her gaze around the room, searching for the threat that she  _knew_  was there. The room was still in shadows, as it had been since she walked in to find Michael waiting for her, but she didn’t see anything. It was empty. He stared down at her, comprehension and pity in his eyes. "There’s nothing there."

"It’s there," she whispered. "I know they’re watching us. They found out. They’re playing with us."

"No one’s watching us. I disabled your surveillance."

She looked at him sharply, momentarily distracted from her paranoia. "There’s no surveillance in my apartment."

"Not anymore."

She was silent for an outraged moment. "Those sons-of-bitches. They’ve been watching me the whole time."

"Yes." His face was concerned as he studied her, still pinning her arms to the mattress. She took a deep breath and collected herself. There was no one there, no immediate threat, and she had acted like a rookie, panicking like that. It was Michael, she thought bitterly, muddling everything up. She was fine as long as she had nothing to lose. But bring Michael back into the equation and everything turned over. She had weaknesses, fears, hopes. She couldn’t do it.

"I’m fine, Michael. You can get off of me," she said wearily.

He didn’t move. "Are you fine?"

"Well I was," she snapped. "I made you safe - why didn’t you just stay away? I freed you after my cover was blown – you came back. I made the worst bargain of my life so you could be with Adam, and here you are. Why won’t you just be free?"

There was a subtle torture underlying the steadiness of his gaze. "I can’t."

"You know, Vizcano told me once that you don’t want to be happy. She said you didn’t want a companion – you wanted a quest." She sighed. "I’m starting to think she’s right. The more impossible this becomes, the more determined you seem to have it."

"To have you," he said, mouth drawn in a tight line. He let her go and lay back down beside her, pulling her against his chest. "I let you go," he said softly, "and you came back."

She softened as he stroked her back. The thought of living without this man for the rest of her life was unbearable, and absolutely the only option for them. He began to brush his lips over her face, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, until finally her found her lips. This time she rolled on top, taking control, and he let her, his eyes heavy with desire and love as he cupped her hips. She was determined, as always, to make him lose control, and as always she ended up torturing herself the most. She rode him faster and faster, then slowed, leaned over and kissed him, and began again, until the pressure stretched to the breaking point, and she collapsed on his chest, crying out his name. Only then did he flip her over and finish himself.

"I love you," she said frantically, as he found his own release.

He stretched her arms above her head, so she felt overwhelmed and deliciously helpless, and he kissed her deeply. She arched up into him, needing him to feel how desperately she loved him before he disappeared again from her life. There were no windows to judge day and night in Section, but the clock read 3:00, and she would need to get up in two hours to prepare for Solomon’s meeting. And Michael would be gone again, maybe forever.

He kissed her, hot and open-mouthed, at the base of her throat, jerking her body up against his so she could feel the trembling aftershocks wracking his body. "Nikita, I know."

*****

She dozed, but she didn’t sleep for long. When she awoke again, she felt the same shock of fear, but she forced herself to be still, to not let the adrenaline control her. Slowly, slowly, she relaxed. She felt Michael’s breath stirring the back of her neck, and his arm rested secure around her, a prison and a protection.

She felt it the moment he woke. A subtle tension invaded his body, and then he, too, relaxed. A hand came up to stroke her hair.

"How’s Adam doing?" she asked, enjoying the feeling of his fingers running through the strands.

"He has nightmares. But he’ll be all right."

"Where is he now?"

"The woman who lives next door has a boy the same age. He and Adam are friends."

"Where do they think you are?"

"Business trip."

She rolled over and gave him an amused glance. "And what kind of business are you in? Dealing art? Programming computers? Flying airplanes?"

He acknowledged his many personas with a faint smile. "I work at a bank."

"Ah. Very believable. Very normal." She was silent for a moment. "So…the woman. With the son. Is she married?"

" Nikita," his voice held warning.

"You deserve to have someone you can be with," she said quietly, silently grimacing against the jealousy twisting her stomach. "Adam deserves someone who you can have a future with."

He was silent for a moment, frowning at the strands of hair that drifted through his fingers. "His mother is dead."

She heard the self-loathing in his words and reached up to touch his face. "You had nothing to do with it, Michael. It was a freak accident."

He rolled onto his back. His face was a blank but his jaw was clenched. She wanted to put her arms around him, but she knew this was an argument she’d never win. "Adam will always love Elena, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t accept another woman in his life." She swallowed her bitterness. "Another woman who loves him. And you."

"I don’t want to talk about it now." He rolled out of bed and began to gather his clothes, strong and lithe as he padded across her floor.

"I just think – "

"I didn’t come to talk about my life." He jerked on his jeans in a movement less controlled than she’d ever seen him make. She watched his lower body disappear with some regret.

"Too bad," she said stubbornly. "I want to know about your life."

"When I’m ready, I’ll tell you."

She gave a short, humorless laugh. "So what’s the plan, Michael? You just show up every couple of months and hope you don’t get caught?"

"I won’t get caught."

Frustrating man, she thought, watching him pull on his sweater. "Be reasonable. You’ve been out of the field for two years, and you have Adam to think of now. If they find out we’ll both be cancelled, and Adam will be all alone."

"Adam won’t be in any danger." He said it with such conviction that she believed.

She bit her lip as she watched his graceful progress across the room, both frightened by his self-assurance and aroused by it. He had assured her everything would be all right before, and she had ended up Gelmanized and nearly catatonic. She shook away those bad memories.

"It’s a bad idea."

"You don’t think it’s possible."

"Lots of things can be done. Doesn’t mean they should be," she quoted softly. "Isn’t that what you told me?"

He stared at her, and she could see the edges of frustration begin to pull at him. It was a dirty trick, using his own words against him, words from when they were both very different people. But how could she not? He had said them back then to protect her. How could she not use them for the same purpose? She felt the pit opening up again, the one she thought she’d managed to crawl out of after the first time he left. Apparently she had just become accustomed to living there. The impossibility, the stupidity of what they were trying to do clawed at her. She had fixed it, she had made him safe, and now he was here again, reminding her of what it was like to be loved by him, what she would sacrifice for him.

She would sacrifice her life, and she would give up any chance of future happiness to make sure he was safe.  
 _  
Push him away,_  she thought in despair. If she was gentle with him, he would take advantage, and it was only a matter of time before he wore her down. If she was cold enough, if she made him angry enough, maybe he would leave and stay away this time. She might die bit by bit, but he would be safe. He had to be.

She looked him up and down. "You’re not the operative you once were, Michael. You won’t even see it coming."

He shot her a contemptuous look, his eyes flashing silver.

She pushed herself out of bed and began carelessly picking up her discarded clothes. "You think you can protect yourself. You think you can protect Adam, but you’re wrong. If they want to get to you, they’ll get to you. You think I can help you somehow, but I’m more trapped than ever. If they find out I’ll have no choice but to help them bring you in."

She could see him approaching her slowly from the side, but she ignored it, opening her closet to study the sea of subdued suits that was her wardrobe now. "Nikita," he said cautiously.

She kept talking. "You need to think about Adam. Who will take care of him if you get caught? I don’t want that on my conscience." She swallowed. "I don’t want you to come back."

He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she reacted, using all her weight to throw her elbow against his solar plexus. He grunted and fell back, but he took her with him, his arms closing like steel bands around her abdomen. She tried to throw her head back against his face, but he was too quick for her, using her momentum to spin her toward him and slam her against the wall. All the breath left her body in a whoosh, and she slumped against the wall, dazed for a moment.

When her vision cleared she realized he had her wrists pinned on either side of her head. His eyes were like ice. She made a token struggle, and he responded by giving her one hard shake. "Enough," he said sharply.

"Michael, let me go." She squirmed, humiliated that he could still beat her so easily, frustrated that her message wasn’t getting through.

"No." His voice was quiet, and final.

She let her head drop back against the wall, feeling the love and frustration and despair and helplessness all well up in her at once. "This will never work."

He released one hand to cup her cheek. "It has to," he said. "It’s the only way I can live."

*****

Walter looked at her sharply as she glided into the weapons area two hours later. He studied her for with narrowed eyes for a minute before his mouth curved. The cat that ate the cream. "You look well-rested," he teased slyly, "although I doubt you got much sleep."

She didn’t let the serene expression slip from her face, but she knew she was glowing. She had seen herself in the mirror this morning, and even if she hadn’t been exactly happy, she had seen the color in her cheeks, the vivid blue of her eyes. She looked like someone who had just discovered life was worth living again. "Restful is not the word I’d use to describe my night," she said mildly.

His grin widened. "That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say, sugar." Michael had slipped out almost immediately after releasing her from his prison against the wall. He had pulled her against him one more time, kissing her temple and fisting his hands in her hair. "Watch for me," he whispered. She hadn’t been able to say anything, only watch forlornly as the door closed behind him. She couldn’t tell him she wanted him to come back, knowing she was putting his life in danger every time he approached her. She couldn’t tell him to stay away either, though. Not when he had said he couldn’t live without her. Not when she felt the same. And every time she let him come could be the time she got him killed.

Walter’s smile was beginning to falter a bit around the edges at her lack of reaction, although he was still looking immensely proud of himself. She felt contrary, equal urges to hug him and to threaten him with cancellation. It was terrible, discovering what it was like to feel again. It was like a drug. So seductive, and so, so dangerous. She had something to cherish again, something to lose.

He cleared his throat. "I ah…assume everything went according to my plan?" It was Michael’s plan, but she didn’t bother to correct him. Nothing ever went according to anyone’s plan except for Michael’s. And nothing had been solved. As usual, things were left gaping between them, a swirling distance of love and danger and misunderstanding. A dangling rope that led to nowhere. But she could still feel where he’d been inside her, still hear his husky voice and feel the imprint of his hands on her. And she gave in and slid her arms around Walter, hugging him for that gift.

"Thank you," she whispered fiercely.

He squeezed her tight, and she could feel his relief. "Ah, sugar. Anytime."


End file.
